


The Rose in Ice

by palomino333



Series: Pandora-verse [10]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angry Sex, Blood, Forgiveness, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Infidelity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Reconciliation, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 05:24:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17636753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: Takes place during and after "All Our Yesterdays." McCoy and Spock sort out personal demons from Sarpeidon before their wedding.Originally appeared in Spiced Peaches Zine LV.





	The Rose in Ice

"I'll repeat it for you: get this through your head. We can't get back. That means we are trapped, here in this planet's past, and we'll stay here for the rest of our lives."

McCoy had felt frustrated with Spock multiple times over the three years he'd known the man, but never had he suspected that the Vulcan would give up. Their bond remained strong, and, it seemed, it was working more to their detriment. He was distracted and appalled by Spock's mental condition continuing to deteriorate.

Complex thought was the first to go. Spock was careful not to allow his calculations and tactical planning to invade the doctor's mind, and distract him, but the barrier was slowly erased, with calculations as to the probability of escaping this ice age dwindling to nothing. His emotional barrier was collapsing, as well, and it was draining into McCoy, who himself found that he was growing more irritated, and more desperate, to return to their ship.

Drawing the fur about his shoulders like a blanket, he considered, for once, cutting the bond. It could be restored, and it would work to their benefit, anyway. With Spock's mental state eroding, he would have to be the more rational of the two of them. Childishly, he thought of twisting the knife on that, but decided against it.

Spock snapped his head about, causing McCoy to jump slightly. The Vulcan's eyes were dark, freezing the human before him. Slowly, McCoy splayed out his hand before him, moving it slowly over the cracks in the rock floor beneath him. Spock raised one shoulder and cracked it audibly. McCoy's hand paused, but he didn't break his gaze with him. Spock had already yanked him up by his collar and flung him back down into the furs. He was becoming more aggressive with him now.

Spock knew what his mate was considering, and he was tempted to not let it happen, but only for a moment. He immediately dismissed the idea. Leonard was not his slave. He had been unkind to his mate, lately. Still, he could not afford to allow him to leave. He'd nearly lost him three times this year, the third just out in the snow. But if he forced him to stay, he would risk losing him forever. Slowly, he relaxed, lowering his hands. "Len," He said quietly.

McCoy heard the wounded note in Spock's tone, but refused to bow to it. He had to keep equal footing in this. "I don't want to talk to you," he said.

He felt the rebuke that Spock didn't say, mentally. It stung him, the disapproval and frustration. He jerked backward, his hand scrabbling once against the stone before relaxing. On pure instinct, he fought back, pushing Spock away from his mind.

Spock stood quietly and didn't even blink. At last, however, he said, "I understand." Turning away, Spock walked off.

McCoy raised his hand to his eyes, and silently wept.

Spock found that his company with Zarabeth, previously, had been purely professional. That was to be understood, as she was merely a comrade. Still, however, she was utterly lonely, and seemed gentle and kind. They were traits that he found within his th'y'la, who he was closed to. Perhaps she would be an adequate substitute. Spock drew Zarabeth into his arms and kissed her. She tasted like meat, which he found that he disliked, but he enjoyed the eagerness of her mouth. It felt warm and alive. There was a trace of hope in it, one that he wished to pursue. He considered whether remaining here would not be so bad.

He was caught in the moment until he heard boots thumping to stand before him and Zarabeth, and McCoy growling, "You've betrayed me, Spock." Seeking to take his anger out on someone, the doctor focused on the easier target, Zarabeth, and berated her, more and more. He took an amount of satisfaction in how he scared her as he manhandled her.

"What're you doing to her?!" Spock exclaimed angrily, yanking McCoy off her.

McCoy hadn't had time to react, with the Vulcan seizing him. He winced as he hit his head against the wall behind him. Spock winced at it, their synchronization bringing him somewhat back to himself. McCoy was stunned but felt the jolt. He had one chance at this and leapt on it. Staring back at the cold fury in his mate's eyes, he asked, "Are you going to kill me, Spock?" At Spock's hesitation, he pressed, "Is that what you really want?"

Spock's burning rage quelled, and McCoy felt him relax, somewhat, and become shocked at himself for what he had been considering to do to his lover. Thoughts flitted through the Vulcan's mind. He considered falling on his knees and begging this man's forgiveness. He considered embracing him tightly, disallowing the doctor to leave him. McCoy, however, opted to stop those thoughts.

"Think! What're you feeling? Rage? Jealousy? Have you ever had those feelings before?" McCoy prompted.

Some point of clarity returned to Spock, and he quietly said, "This is impossible…"

In a typical setting, he would be correct. McCoy seized on the difference. "The Vulcan you knew wouldn't exist for 5000 years. What is occurring on your planet right at this very moment?" McCoy knew he was striking a nerve when prompting him, but found he had no other choice.

"My ancestors are barbarians," Spock commented with a hint of shame.

"Who nearly killed themselves off with their own passions," McCoy finished for him to keep him from completely devolving into embarrassment.

Spock swallowed visibly, and said, "I've lost myself. I do not know who I am."

McCoy felt sympathy for him but tempered it. Spock felt lost in this time, and he understood why. At the same token, however, he couldn't allow himself to be fully consumed by it, as well. He was a poor guide, but he was all Spock had, in that moment. Zarabeth couldn't be trusted. As Spock lowered his hands, McCoy caught them. "It's all right. I'll help you."

Spock's gaze rose. Behind him, Zarabeth stirred, her hand outstretched toward him. Rage flared within McCoy, and Spock felt it. McCoy's gaze locked onto his. He felt the Vulcan's possessiveness of her burning through it, and he hated it. He burned with jealousy, the rationality he clung to fragmenting to pieces. He wanted Zarabeth to leave Spock alone. There was no coming out of this otherwise. He was descending into anguish over it, his past catching with him to taunt him. Jocelyn was leaving him for a different man…He couldn't go back there. No! He hated that woman, and more so, he hated Spock.

Spock was grasping at his own conscious mind, but it ripped and fragmented in his hand. From pieces of it, he was able to pull together a solution. His mate was furious with him. Leonard was tired, cold, and hurting in more ways than one. His human emotions cracked and wound, binding him up within a painful web. Spock felt guilt at placing him there and longed to free him.

McCoy felt Spock's need, and, in a moment where he barely stopped to think, seized upon it. Swallowing heavily, the doctor said in ragged voice, "Please." McCoy was willing to do anything, if Spock only would come back to him, in that moment. Spock's hands fell to the hem of his uniform tunic and tugged on it. McCoy caught a glimpse of Zarabeth watching them, crestfallen, over Spock's shoulder. The next moment she was gone from his view as Spock roughly turned his face to him and shoved him backward against the cave wall again in a brutal kiss.

Images flickered through his head, too quick for him to fully process, emotions bleeding into him at an alarming rate. Chief of it all was Spock's fear of losing him. He saw himself limp, and frost-bitten, with Spock gently handling him. Spock was insistent on ripping at his uniform. McCoy grasped his hand to keep it from pulling too harshly. He tried kicking off his boots, but one got stuck around his ankle. Lifting one leg, he wrapped it around Spock to cling to his waist, grinding their erections together. There was no talking, their mouths moving wetly against one another. McCoy's nails dragged across Spock's back. Spock groped and squeezed roughly at him, causing Leonard to grunt and groan. Swinging him about, Spock carried him back toward the furs, their thoughts twisting together, forming one word.

Mine.

McCoy grunted as he landed on the furs. Spock stood over him, his eyes burning with hunger. McCoy held up his hands and snapped them back toward himself. Spock pounced onto him, snapping McCoy's limbs down beside him with his tight grip. McCoy's breath caught and sweat ran down the side of his neck.

Spock ground his hardness against him, nipping his way down his neck. McCoy's teeth gritted, knowing that he would be walking away with bruises, if he did at all. His flailing hands were caught by Spock. McCoy snarled in frustration, "Let go!"

Spock's nostrils flared, and he released him. Snatching Spock's shoulders in his grip, McCoy threw his weight to the side, rolling them to climb on top of him. McCoy's one hand fisted in Spock's chest hair, while the other cupped around the back of his head to yank him up for a searing kiss.

Mine!

Leonard let go of him, and, for a moment, took in the sight of his debauched mate. Spock's eyes were wide, and his mouth was open, his hair plastered down. Sweat shone on his face. In the back of his mind, a fragment of McCoy's rationality railed at him to not harm his mate. He spat into his hands more than once and rubbed them together. He was barely thinking correctly and knew that it was a poor substitute for lubricant. It would have to do for now. He pressed down hard upon his mate's shoulders, pushing him into the furs.

McCoy's teeth gnashed. He was hissing something at Spock that he couldn't quite decipher in his mind, his hand fisted in the Vulcan's hair. He didn't recognize his own voice at that point and didn't much care. He wanted him, now, and wanted him, more than ever, to not look in Zarabeth in that way again.

Spock's hands came up, and gently ran over McCoy's hips before tugging him forward. The Vulcan spread his legs, his ankles hooking about him to draw him closer. McCoy thrusted, driving himself into Spock. Spock lurched upward involuntarily, and McCoy, with a growl, bit down on his mate's ear. Spock groaned heavily, clutching fiercely at him with one hand, and the other jerking at his own erect penis.

McCoy kissed down his neck, and bit at Spock's exposed collar bone. Spock buried his head in his lover's chest with a strangled moan. McCoy seized his chin, and yanked him back up for a kiss, biting at his lips. He rolled his hips forward, and Spock moaned against his mouth as he came, covering both of them. McCoy, with a ragged groan, came as well, staring down into those dark, clouded eyes.

MINE!

His legs shaking, McCoy rolled slightly to get off Spock. His weight dropped onto his elbows before he collapsed at his side. Semen was crusted on the Vulcan's chest, and he reached out to him. He paused for a moment when he realized that the backs of his fingers were bright red from bloody knuckles. Blood was oozing from the scratches on their bodies. Leonard tasted copper in his mouth, though he couldn't tell if it was his, Spock's, or both.

Fingers gently traced over McCoy's hair, which was plastered down by sweat, smoothing it away in a gentle caress. "Ashayam." Spock's eyes, for a moment, appeared watery. He closed them and took a breath. Lowering his head, he buried it in McCoy's breast. Reaching up, McCoy grasped his head, and leaned forward to kiss the top of it. He felt utterly dizzy, and knew that Spock was, as well.

McCoy coaxed, "You're safe. Just sleep." Spock slowly shook his head, and Leonard added, "I'm not walking out on you, love. All I ask is for you to sleep."

Spock lowered his head, and slowly closed his eyes. The doctor ran a hand through his hair and let go of him to stretch his limbs out with a groan. McCoy sluggishly crawled over to his medical bag and tugged out the scanner. Creeping over to Spock, he ran it over the Vulcan's skin, sewing up the damage. He kissed his mate's shoulder more out of possessiveness than tenderness.

Leaning up against the cold cave wall, he groaned, the heat in his body dying down. Dragging the fur over his lower half to protect his genitals, he dozed, the regenerator slipping out of his hand.

The sounds of crackling and footsteps woke him. He opened his eyes and tugged his clothing to him. Spock was still sound asleep. There were a few rips and tears in the fabric, but it was still serviceable. Gathering his equipment, he went into the antechamber.

Zarabeth turned to look at him from where she was seated before the fire. "Leonard," she greeted solemnly. McCoy gave her a nod, not wanting to even think of what she had heard. Thankfully, she didn't pursue the subject. "I have food." Lifting her hand, she gestured to the small stack of roasted meat beside her.

"Thanks," McCoy muttered, sitting down beside her and tugging a bone lose from the pile. The meat was stringy, the blood and juice dripping off it. He figured that he would probably get sick later from eating it but had no choice. He sat with Zarabeth in silence for a while, the two of them tearing strips off with their teeth and smacking their lips.

McCoy glanced up from his bone. "You couldn't have been used to eating this."

"I threw up over the first year. My stomach finally became used to it, afterward," she shrugged, "I suppose I wouldn't be able to digest processed provisions."

"What happened to your clothing, if I might ask?" He inquired, carefully pulling off a strip to bring to his mouth.

"It was torn by one of the native creatures on my third day. The old world was gone from me, then," she replied bluntly. McCoy's blue eyes flashed up at her. Zarabeth glared back at him. "You're a selfish, cruel man."

"Spock is my fiancée," he replied firmly, "You have no right to touch him like that."

Her eyes widened for a moment, and then narrowed. "I wasn't trying to steal your mate from you. I had been so alone for so long, and at last I had a companion. You should understand my delight. It was only natural."

"We don't belong here," he said.

"I don't, either!" She exclaimed, her voice cracking as she threw a bone from her. It clattered away noisily. She breathed heavily in her anger and shook her head. "It shocks me that I've lived this long in this frozen waste."

"Here," he placed his medical scanner before her.

"I don't want it."

"You want to live?"

"Not particularly," she replied flatly. McCoy opened his mouth to rebuke her, but Zarabeth held up a hand. "You both gave me a reason to live. If you leave, I won't have it anymore. I have no friends or family here, and I'm so bored. Even the cave doesn't give me solace, as it reminds me of how alone I am." He knew that she was trying to entrap both Spock and him, but he didn't blame her. Still, the anger he felt at seeing her kissing Spock was continuing to erode his sympathy. He stared coldly at her until her expression slowly relaxed. "Forgive me," Zarabeth relented, "You are joined. I shouldn't have done that."

"I'm not the person you should be asking for forgiveness," he replied, his fist clenching on his bent knee. Zarabeth glanced past him at Spock. McCoy tore off a piece of meat with his teeth, sending juice flying everywhere. Raising the back of his hand to his mouth, he wiped it off. He felt gross for doing so.

"He's sleeping," she commented, "That aside, I don't think you'll want me talking to him."

"I don't own him," McCoy hissed.

Zarabeth folded her arms. "Your actions last night suggested otherwise." McCoy's fist wobbled against his leg, and he glanced down at it. Upon seeing that the knuckles had turned white, he slowly released his hand.

Turning to stare into the fire, he replied, "I can't argue with you there."

"At least we would be together, here," Zarabeth raised a stick to poke at the logs in the fire, "The three of us, I mean. You did seem attracted to me when I fed you."

He swung his head sharply about at that. "Attraction and love aren't the same thing."

"I know that," she answered sharply, lowering the stick, "Nevertheless, it doesn't matter to me, doctor, as that wasn't what I was asking you for. I merely wanted a warm body, and someone to speak with. I would suppose, given that we are both guilty parties here, that makes us equals."

McCoy felt his appetite diminish and placed the meat abruptly down. Zarabeth glanced at him. "What is it?"

"This is wrong," he replied, "Spock isn't a thing, and we're treating him like a possession to be fought over."

"We've each laid our claims on him. If you want to backtrack now, then that doesn't change your previous behavior," Zarabeth pointed out, "It seems that we're at an impasse."

"Then we're done talking about it," McCoy decided.

"Fine," she replied flatly, reaching to the side to grasp her hooded coat, "I will gather more wood. When I return, I will have a discussion with both of you about the distribution of work. If you are to stay here, you should make yourselves useful in my home."

"I'll go," he offered.

"No," she stated, rising, "You nearly froze to death out there, before. You going out there, frankly, is suicide." Turning her back on him, Zarabeth walked away.

McCoy wrapped the remainder of the meat in a skin for Spock and wiped his hands off on another. Rising, he headed over to Spock, who was curled on his side. Spock slowly turned at the sound of his footsteps and took a few moments to mentally readjust himself.

McCoy knelt before him and unwrapped the meat. "Here, some breakfast for you. I'll check your vitals afterwards, since you're not used to having meat."

Spock slowly reached out a hand to grasp a piece and break it off. "You seemed strange last night, Leonard," he commented quietly.

"Most likely, it's because of our bond," McCoy replied, crawling over to pick up the fur blanket, and adjust it over Spock's shoulders.

Spock paused, and lowered his eyes. "I am sorry."

"Nothing can be done at this point," McCoy said, "We seem lucid now, but that probably won't last."

"No," Spock gave a sharp shake of his head, "I do not wish to harm you again."

"It's just a conk on the head," McCoy reassured, deciding to side step the main issue for the moment.

Spock, however, pressed that point. "You were abused by your previous mate. I have repeated that behavior, and I am sorry for doing so."

McCoy gently dragged his nails over Spock's scalp. Spock blinked rapidly at that, and McCoy lowered his thumb to wipe along his eye. "Calm down," he said quietly, "You aren't yourself, right now. I'm not, either."

"That is not an excuse."

"No, but I know you wouldn't do that to me, were we under different circumstances." Gathering himself, he added, "And I wouldn't have done what I did to you."

"You were reclaiming your mate," Spock commented.

"Wrong. I influenced you," McCoy's free hand clenched along loose talc, crushing it into powder, "What I did was little better than mind control."

Spock propped himself up on his elbow. "Th'y'la, my hand was around your neck."

McCoy felt their mutual discomfort at the turn the conversation had taken. "Eat," he said with a nudge, "You'll need to keep your strength up. You can rest for a while afterward, but then you'll have to bathe. You don't smell very good."

"Will you bathe with me?" Spock asked.

"Yeah." McCoy brought his arms about Spock as he lay beside him.

"Are you still angry with me, Leonard?" Spock inquired, swallowing a piece of meat.

"I am," he answered, and with a kiss of his shoulder, added, "but I'll admit I've been a bastard, as well."

Spock said nothing, and merely grasped McCoy's hands to bring them closer to his chest. McCoy leaned his head against his shoulder and felt his hopes of returning to the Enterprise continuing to diminish.

XXXXXX

"You don't get it, do you?"

Spock stopped the last note on his lute. His eyes slowly rose from the fire that burned in his ceremonial pot. He had found himself fond of its heat, lately, despite how illogical it was. It was warm on board the Enterprise now. Laying it aside, he inquired, "What is the topic you believe I do not understand?"

McCoy was cast beside him in a soft blue light, his arms folded as he leaned against the wall. He sighed, dropping his arms and stepping forward. "Spock, I invaded your mind on Sarpeidon. What I did was no better than what your double did to me in the Mirror Universe."

"That is not accurate," Spock replied calmly. McCoy's eyes flicked to the fire pot, and Spock said firmly, "No, Leonard." McCoy frowned in annoyance, knowing that Spock had caught him in thinking of hurling the pot at the wall to make a point.

"Then what is?" He asked pointedly.

"I was in control of my functions. I can remember what happened," Spock replied simply, steepling his fingers. "When you were controlled by Landru, for example, you were not. It was a different situation."

McCoy waved an arm, stepping forward. "Okay Spock, fine. We'll play that game. Then you do remember my saying that you weren't yourself?"

"Indeed, doctor, but you were also not," Spock stated, "We must take that into account."

"You pointy-eared hobgoblin! What will it take to get through to you?!" The doctor cried in exasperation. Not giving much mind to his pride, McCoy knelt and placed his folded arms upon Spock's lap. He brought his head onto them.

Slowly, Spock raised his hand, and began to pet his mate's hair. "Given the circumstance, you haven't broken a taboo in Vulcan society, Leonard," he said, "but what you did on Sarpeidon was less than ethical."

"I seem to be doing things like that often this year," he mumbled into his folded arms.

"You care heavily for your mate. There is a risk of that happening," Spock pointed out.

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea," McCoy muttered, his heart sinking.

"I have no intention of leaving you," Spock replied.

"You have a reason?" McCoy raised his head, and Spock brushed two fingers against his mate's forehead in a Vulcan kiss. "Spock," he pressed, his voice growing concerned, "please, give me a reason. Don't feel like you just have to stay with me."

"Stop flagellating yourself, and listen to me," Spock's tone had become firm, holding close to his rank of commander. "I have stated my reasons to you several times in the past. They are unchanged. It would merely be a stroking of your ego that I remind you of them."

McCoy shoved himself away from Spock. "Now listen here, you green-blooded son of a bitch! I'm not begging for compliments! I asked you an honest question!"

"And I gave you an honest answer," Spock replied, his tone still firm. Placing his hand upon the knee that McCoy had previously been leaning upon, he continued, "I wish for us to move on from this."

"Don't you brush this aside!" McCoy hissed, "I hurt you!"

Spock asked quietly, "That is what you want, then, isn't it, Leonard? You want me to tell you that you are not worth my time any longer." McCoy swallowed, and Spock continued, "The reason being is that I hurt you, back in that cave, and it frustrates you that you could not prevent any of it. Further, you detest yourself for using less than conventional means to draw me back to you. You wish me to hurt you again and make myself the mark. But I will not give you that satisfaction."

"Is that all it is, then? Winning another argument between us?" The human growled.

The Vulcan, however, sat resolutely, and replied, "If it is you that I wish to win, I must be careful."

Leonard scowled at him. "I'm not an object."

"That is not what I meant." Spock's finality of tone indicated his suspicion that McCoy was merely trying to divert the point. "We mistreated each other in that cave, but that was an incident where we were not ourselves. You wish to return to that world, with how you continue to bring it up."

"And what, then? Brush it away?" McCoy challenged.

Spock stared at him for a moment before moving his hand to his mate's psi-points. McCoy's face slowly relaxed as he felt the wound that the Vulcan was exposing to him. Similarly, Spock felt the sheer self-loathing McCoy both was entrapped in and wore about himself protectively. Staring up at him, Leonard realized that Spock hadn't yet forgiven himself, either. "Don't. You weren't you," he said quietly.

"The same, then, applies to you," he replied evenly.

McCoy swallowed, and looked down at his folded arms. "We aren't good people, are we?"

"We attempt to be. Although, our opinions of ourselves and each other are not to be trusted. They carry bias," Spock answered, "Is it that enough to satisfy you?"

"No," he replied, "but it's like you said. It was several thousand years ago. I can't change it."

"Th'y'la." Spock placed his hand upon McCoy's head, and began to rub at it. McCoy lowered his head back down upon Spock's lap. Spock gently ran his fingers through his mate's hair in a reassuring caress.

XXXXXX

M'Benga held out a PADD to the two officers before him, stating, "I kept the details on a purely medical basis. If you want me to delete the data from what happened on Sarpeidon, I can do so under doctor-patient confidentiality. This will only be intended for the healers on Vulcan. I have a few contacts, there."

Spock glanced at McCoy, who held up a hand. "It's your decision, Spock."

Spock said nothing, thinking over it carefully. Folding his hands behind his back, he made his decision. "This incident must be recorded. I cannot allow personal observations to halt medical study."

McCoy made a mental note to allow Spock to be alone, that coming night. He could feel the unease from his mate's decision over the matter and wanted to allow him to withdraw.

"Thank you, sir. Here are your readings," M'Benga held out one PADD, "and yours, as well, sir." McCoy gratefully took his.

Holding the PADD closing to Spock, the back of his hand brushing against his, McCoy commented, "They don't correlate accordingly."

M'Benga nodded his head, twisting his pen between his fingers. "Meaning that the devolution wasn't a direct result of the mental bond. It was merely an accelerant. With Dr. McCoy not being conscious as long as Commander Spock, he was less affected."

"What can be done about prevention tactics, for future reference?" McCoy asked, keeping his gaze fixed on M'Benga. He felt a barb from Spock on that but soothed it with an indication that he wasn't angry with him.

"The first should go without saying," M'Benga explained, glancing between them. Each man nodded in understanding. "But I know that neither of you wishes to take that route, and I won't force you to do so. I would posit a theory, however, that if Commander Spock was fully Vulcan, the devolution might have been quicker."

"That is a logical assumption," Spock commented, adding, "Tell me, doctor, when you were on Vulcan, what was the political climate?"

M'Benga straightened up at that, and McCoy glanced between them. "Spock, what're you getting at?"

Spock folded his arms. "The literature of Sered, was it still being exchanged?"

Realization dawned on M'Benga, his expression becoming solemn. "Yes, in some circles."

"I thought as much."

"Sered?" McCoy inquired.

"It would be better if you did not meet him," Spock said, a note of ice so slight in his tone that M'Benga missed it. McCoy felt a sense of protectiveness surge over him but shook it off.

"Sered was a Vulcan philosopher that advocated against Vulcan's fellowship in the Federation. He was also heavily against interspecies breeding," M'Benga explained.

Glancing at McCoy once more, Spock finished, "You will find record of how Sered's disappearance occurred within the databanks of Federation history. It is common knowledge at this point."

McCoy felt sweat on the back of his neck, not liking where the conversation was going. At Spock's nod, M'Benga explained, "Sered took several Vulcan and human hostages at Vulcan's Forge during a coming of age ceremony. Commander Spock was among them. The commander and a boy who later became a Federation officer broke loose, however, and caused a stir that stopped the crisis. Sered was not heard from again. Many presume him dead."

McCoy set his jaw hard but relaxed it. "And this incident would give men like him power, wouldn't it?" He asked quietly.

"Exactly." M'Benga replied. Spock said nothing, being hard set in his pose. McCoy didn't bother to pry into his thoughts, allowing him his peace. "Nevertheless, it's better if we keep this on file for interracial relationships between Vulcans and others."

McCoy nodded. "Okay, sit on it for now. In the meantime, filter what contacts you have on Vulcan."

"They would have to go through your approval," M'Benga pointed out.

McCoy shook his head. "I can't give it. I'm too personally connected to this. Run them by Chapel in my absence."

"Understood."

"My appreciation," Spock thanked.

M'Benga off-lined his PADD and stored the file. He wasn't a relationship counselor, but he figured, as he watched his boss depart with their commander, they would be all right.

XXXXXX

"Does Father know?" Spock inquired.

Speaking to his mother was like looking into another life, considering the revelations on Sarpeidon. He felt older and more jaded now, as if he had truly lost a part of himself. She didn't look any different to him, rather she appeared frozen in time. He had grown away from his father, and now, it seemed, he would grow away from her, as well.

"He does," Amanda affirmed simply.

"I doubt that he approves," Spock commented.

"I wouldn't agree fully with that assumption." At her son's pause, Amanda explained, "Don't forget that Doctor McCoy saved your father's life. The doctor did earn his respect, in that manner. His pacifism is also a point of favor."

"This is unexpected," Spock commented as he registered her words, "but that does remove a variable in this equation."

"Spock just be sure that he treats you well. I don't want a repeat of T'Pring."

"Forgive me, mother, but T'Pring was not my choice," he gently reminded her.

She looked down. "I know."

"Do you not approve of Leonard?" Spock inquired.

"It's a little too late to be asking me this question, Spock," she gently chastised, "But to answer your question, I do. He seems like a good man. Maybe you two will have better luck with the public than your father and I did, but who can really say." Protectiveness surged through Spock, and Amanda raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps," he agreed, "It is best that I finish my preparations, then."

Amanda smiled. "You look great, honey."

"Mother, I find your pet names for me to be inappropriate to my age," Spock commented. Amanda's smile only broadened as he added, "But thank you."

She held up the Vulcan salute, which he returned. "May you both live long and prosper, my son."

"The same to you, Mother," he replied, off-lining the comm. The digital clock indicated that he had forty-five minutes to kill.

Feeling his mate's indecision, he opened his mental link with him, his voice drifting over a deck floor. "Leonard."

"I wonder if this is the same as seeing the bride before the wedding," McCoy quipped, adjusting his sleeves.

"That is a human tradition adhering to luck," Spock said, "But to avoid going against it, I am not physically there."

McCoy smiled. "Thanks, darling."

"Has your family approved?" Spock asked.

He was about to ask Spock why that was pertinent to the conversation, but decided to answer him, instead. "Donna's mad that she won't be seeing her little brother getting hitched again. Joanna's hoping to see you again as soon as you can."

"That is good, then. You seem to be relaxed about this," he commented.

"Simple, I've been through the song and dance before. Make a few promises you don't intend to keep, get drunk at the afterparty, and take a tumble in bed."

"Leonard," Spock cautioned.

"Yeah, yeah, just trying to lighten the mood," he muttered.

"There is no need. It is a good day," Spock replied.

McCoy tugged at his collar to adjust it. It was already beginning to give him discomfort, and he dreaded going through the ceremony in it. "I guess you wanted to know what's wrong?"

"Partially."

"Oh?"

"Are there any misgivings you wish to address?" Spock inquired. "This is your third attempt at a wedding, and my second."

McCoy slowly smiled as he realized that Spock had come to him for reassurance, but it slipped off. "Look, we can move this, if you want, in light of what's happened. If you wanted me to call this off now, I would."

Spock knew that Leonard wasn't lying, and he sensed that a weaker part of each of them did want him to respond to the affirmative. "No. I wish to continue."

"Okay. And Spock?"

"What is it?"

McCoy sighed, dropping his hand from his collar, "Before we do this, I just wanted to tell you thanks for saying 'yes.'"

"It was the logical answer, doctor."

McCoy smirked. "See you at the chapel, big guy."

The chapel was small, and closely populated. McCoy stood beside Kirk, who was holding a book. He tugged once at his collar, and Kirk glanced over at him. "Bones, you okay?"

"Damn uniform," he grumbled, "It'll be a wonder I don't keel over in the middle of this."

"Uh-huh," Kirk observed dryly, side-stepping the sharp nudge McCoy tried to give him. "Anyway, nice turn out, all things considering."

The turnout, as it were, was one that a few years ago he would never would have thought of having. Uhura smiled as she chatted with Sulu. Scotty winked at a younger engineer, and McCoy smirked, suspecting exactly what they were concealing. Chekov was joking with another ensign. Still, he couldn't much complain. Life was rather interesting, especially when it came to fixing them up, though not always in the good way.

The conversation stilled as the doors to the room opened. McCoy fastened his hands behind his back, attempting to look sharp as he faced his mate.

As Spock strode past the onlookers, he sensed Leonard drawing him, but this time, it was for a benign reason. He was asking for Spock to look at him, if the Vulcan found the room to be too overwhelming. He wanted Spock to trust that the ceremony would end well, after the disaster of Spock's previous matrimonial ceremony on Vulcan.

Leonard's eyes were a gentle blue, and Spock found himself drawn to them, and the confidence they offered.

Their captain was speaking ceremonial words, but Spock only paid attention on a surface level. The doctor was the first to state his vows. With a tinge of humor, he stated that he would patch whatever wound Spock presented to him, and would, on a more serious note, protect him. Spock's vows were similar, stating that he was willing to tolerate McCoy's illogical outbursts, as well as to remain with him until death, and beyond.

Kirk glanced up once at the ceiling before pronouncing the two married, hoping that, for once, nothing would interfere. The captain got his wish, the ceremony continuing in a mundane manner.

McCoy reached out, his thumb trailing once over Spock's cheek before drawing him down for a kiss.

"I could just give you a kiss on the hand, you know," McCoy had offered previously, "It's chaste in the human way. Wouldn't want to embarrass you at the altar."

"You need not make any concessions for me," Spock replied, "You respected Vulcan tradition at my first wedding. I will respect yours."

The wedding he had pictured would have had T'Pau orating, and his promising himself to T'Pring. His parents would have been attendance, and all would have been smooth and proper. The reality of this second ceremony clashed sharply with that image. It was a small ceremony on a Federation starship, one that tended to be battered. Most in attendance were assorted friends, and no family. And there he was, marrying an emotional human. It was adolescent rebellion, and he found it fascinating. Pressing his lips to his mate's, he found he was quite interested in continuing along with that reckless line of thought.

Kirk shut his book. "May I present to all who have assembled here, your commanding officers, bonded together in matrimony."

At an exclamation of "finally" by Chekov, the crew applauded and dispersed, with several making a beeline for the food.

McCoy linked an arm possessively through Spock's, passing by several crewmates who offered their congratulations. Kirk slipped past them with a grin and took aside a yeoman to begin a conversation with her.

"He's up to something," McCoy commented to Spock, "You see that shit-eating grin on his face?"

"It would likely be harmless, doctor," Spock chided.

"Harmless isn't a word I would use when involving him," he argued.

"I agree, but that is not our main topic of concern. For now, my husband, attend," Spock chided, "It is our ceremony."

"Gonna take some getting used to that," McCoy commented at his wording, following him into the reception.

XXXXXX

"I'll kill him," McCoy muttered in annoyance upon seeing the synthetic rose petals on his bed.

"I think that the captain was attempting to set a certain mood with them," Spock commented as McCoy walked past him to the bed.

Brushing them off, he said, "Yeah, well, there's cute and there's annoying. Jim has crossed the line on that one."

"In my opinion, he had crossed the line when he gave each of us tomorrow off-duty," Spock said, "We are still integral members of the ship."

McCoy glanced back at him, and smirked. "I don't intend on sleeping."

"I see we have come to an agreement," Spock commented, placing his arms about McCoy from behind, and tugging him to himself.

McCoy reached up and released the clasp on his uniform collar. He caught his breath and leaned backward into him. Closing his eyes, he sighed in contentment. The day had been long, and he was tired from the party.

"To bed, th'y'la," Spock said in his ear.

XXXXXX

"Leonard, we may be off, today, but it is better not to waste it," Spock commented from where he stood over his husband, who was sprawled across the bed. The sheets trailed over the side haphazardly.

At Spock's words, the doctor rolled over to bury his head in the pillow. "It's the morning after my wedding," McCoy muttered, dazed, "I'm allowed to be lazy."

"You seem to find multiple reasons to shirk your responsibilities," Spock commented.

McCoy made a less than flattering gesture at his teasing. Spock rose at its appearance, and stated, "Very well, then, if you wish to rest, then I will eat."

McCoy groggily sat up. "All right, fine."

Spock brought the plates of food over from the replicator, and McCoy gratefully took his. Spock's wedding ring glinted as he moved his knife, and Leonard smiled at that. They would have to put them away while on duty. Taking a few bites of the food, he thought his past misgivings about the fact that he was sleeping with his commander. While not unheard of on board vessels, their higher ranks would not have boded well. The issue remained distant, now, as he sat with him.

Crammed beside his mate on the bed, his legs folded together, Spock began to understand the quiet happiness provided by this intimacy. He found that he was interested in pursuing it further.

"Enough with the rough sex for a while, though," McCoy said, rubbing at his back with a grimace, "You can have your teenage rebellion, but need I remind you that I'm forty?"

"Within two weeks' time it will be forty-one," Spock supplied helpfully.

McCoy pointed at him with his fork. "I already have a few gray hairs that tell me that enough, thank you."

"Will I see more of them?" Spock asked.

McCoy shrugged. "Sure. I'm not thinking of dyeing my hair, to be honest with you."

"Then that is a good thing," Spock observed, "I will continue to see you age by my side."

McCoy said nothing for a moment, and then a slow smile spread across his face. "Thanks, darling."

XXXXXX

In the frozen wastes of Sarpeidon, thousands of years ago, Zarabeth stared up at the walls around her, and watched the fires dance. She placed a hand to her lips and understood that she was getting older.

Spock and Leonard, the more she had thought on it, had to have been waking dreams. No one else would come to see her, here. Still, the kiss Spock had given her had been real, as had the anger McCoy had drawn from her. Ultimately, however, they had been entangled with each other, not allowing her in.

Once more, she thought of leaving her cave, and entering the wastes, not to return. There was no point in it, now, her scribbles on the walls out of boredom meaning nothing to her. Still, she stayed her feet, and reached for a piece of stone again. The tally marks she had once dragged had faded out of a sheer lack of point.

There she drew a pointed ear. Here, she drew a man holding a futuristic object he called a medical scanner. She often drew the truth, of the two of them walking away, leaving her behind. But sometimes, the story would change, and she would fall into her dreams, drawing them walking back to her.

Zarabeth's eyes slowly opened at the sound of approaching footsteps, and she smiled to see her dream men framed in the entrance of the cave, content to be caught between dream and waking for even a few moments.

Outside, a fanged creature roared, with only the harsh wind to answer its call.

**Author's Note:**

> Sered is from the novel Vulcan's Forge by Josepha Sherman and Susan Shwartz. Typically, I've seen fanfics where Spock sleeps with Zarabeth, but I wanted to do an alternate take.


End file.
